Sacrifice
by Topaz Cello
Summary: He didn't die for a comrade or a clansman. He died for a friend, and he died for a sister.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. If I did, Neji would be alive and well. **

_So this is my second fic, and it contains_ _spoilers from Chapter 614 and Episode 364. Neji was my favorite character in Naruto, and I always liked him ever since he first appeared in the series. His death devastated me, but here I am writing about it _._.

_Don't kill me, I don't ship Neji and Hinata_._. _They're my BrOTP, or I ship them like they're brother and sister. _

It was terrifying.

Everybody knew it was terrifying.

Nobody had heard of such a thing, allies and such.

War had not struck them as a solution in ages. Peace, they talked about. Peace, and love, and kindness, and understanding, and trust. They were taught war was never the way to go.

War had not been a problem for what felt like eons. The last war had left too many scars on them. Some, which were still healing, and others, which were still open.

And others, could not be felt, but were there also.

Death took its toll on them.

But they were told, there would be even fiercer enemies, with more malevolent weapons, and unexpected happenings.

They were told that everybody would be fighting together for once, against one enemy. It would be the first time they would be united. They would be fighting with each other, opposed to fighting against each other.

The mere concept was indeed foreign.

He knew.

He already fought a long war before.

He fought it ever since he was little.

He fought a war with fate and destiny, and he fought a war against the cage that withheld him, and he won.

He was no longer the insecure boy that looked down on others and cried himself to sleep at night. He was no longer the wicked smirk and uncooperative individual who had no drop of a heart. He was no longer a naive child.

For the first time, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't afraid to be vulnerable. He wasn't afraid to show his emotions.

For the first time, he could taste freedom.

But right when he shed his armor, he would have had to put it on again.

But this time, he was no longer the child, but a full fledged warrior.

He could jump up and wield a sword and knife, and he could slam his fist into a passing foe, only to grimly watch them crumple.

He would have cringed.

And though he was vulnerable, he still had a hardened shell.

He was always hailed as a genius. Top marks, observant, witty, and intelligent. He could defeat five others with a swipe of his arm.

It didn't make him powerful in any way.

But this time, in this war, he was on a quest for power. Power, love, and sacrifice.

He didn't know what he would die for, but if it was for a reason, he would do it.

He would die for a comrade. He really had friends, a wily girl with weapons and a notoriously loud and rambunctious boy with an atrocious sense of style. He would die for a clansman. He had relatives, a hard faced man with a sheet of long hair and a lined face and a meek woman with timid eyes and a pale face.

He could do it.

He wasn't the greedy boy who wanted more.

He was the man who had everything.

When the war started, he was just as light-headed and full of adrenaline as the mere amateur on the battlefield. As time flew by, he knew he could have jumped head first into the chasm called death, and still not be afraid.

He knew because he had things he wanted to protect.

One being in his squad.

The others were spread apart across the realm, and he prayed hard and would stare up at the bloody sky that out of the coughing and the spurting, none of the wretched choking would come from them.

He could stand back to back to her, a young girl with milky eyes and a sweep of hair, and not be afraid, because she was always there for him.

And he was always there for her.

That was what comrades did, was it not?

He could only regret that he was not there to protect all of them, the hardened and aggressive girl with a cheeky smile, and the passionate boy with a wide grin.

And when he thought of them, he would smile.

They met enemy after enemy, foe after foe. Power after power, and corpses after corpses. He didn't know how long it would last.

War had taken a toll on everybody.

There were too many dead from each village.

One of the commanders, a lanky kid with flaming red hair and featureless green eyes, stood up before them.

His eyes hardened. He remembered everything that kid did to his friends.

Memories of bloodshed and worry. Broken faces and tears.

But his speech astounded him. He never knew anybody would have that many things bottled up inside of them.

_However, a single shinobi from the Hidden Leaf stopped me back then! He cried for me, his enemy! We wounded each other in battle! But he called me his friend!_

_There are no enemies here because we've all suffered at Akatsuki's hand! So there is no Suna, no Iwa, no Konoha, no Kiri, and no Kumo! There are only "shinobi"!_

The war seemed to drag on and on, day through night, night through day. He had gotten accustomed to seeing the regular sight of blood on the ground, fallen weapons, and glassy irises that had once been so deep.

If he were younger, he would have said it was their fate.

He knew they came into the war themselves, not afraid to toss away their lives.

And he was one of them.

But he really couldn't help, but _scorn_ them.

Although they were determined, and passionate, they were reckless and impatient and tactless. Some were amateurs. Others had no reason.

He had come across two girls before mooning over their dear _Kazekage_ and not doing a thing at all.

Those kinds of people he scorned most.

Another woman had come over and scolded them, but he couldn't help but let his skin curl. The same girl that had knocked his friend unconscious years ago. He spun on his heel and strode away.

More enemies had popped up out of nowhere, including spiny green bipedal creatures with green hair and wicked amber eyes. They could transform into anybody, and his body tingled with dread when somebody mentioned them.

He was careless.

He let them get him.

He was left writhing inside, yells muffled, a bunch of raging limbs and flailing arms. He could hear the people outside worrying and pleading, and despite the situation, he scowled internally.

They could have done something except standing around like that.

They reminded him of those two girls.

Before long, however, he did manage to shove his way out, and sprang from the creature. He crouched before dramatically getting to his feet, breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. He let the wind blow his hair away and he walked away, as if nothing had happened, ignoring cheers and jawdrops.

The next day, rumors had spread that he had attacked that delicate medic with the shining pink hair, and instead of his usual greetings, he was met with whispers and accusing fingers.

He knew better.

But he knew he was careless.

And he realized that though he had fought and won before, he was still an amateur in the game of war. He was no master.

The days seemed to darken, the sun shined not so brightly, and the moon seemed to dull to a mere gray. Each day seemed to pass by slowly as well; blues settling tediously in the sky before fading out to indigos and dark purples.

He found himself counting off his fingers how long it would be until he could finally be at _peace_ again.

It had barely been a week, although he felt like it had been years.

He itched to talk to _somebody_.

He wanted to talk to someone on his team.

Only then he could feel like he was finally at home.

His uncle came in blubbering (blubbering!) the next day about seeing his brother stand in front of him with dark sclerae that made his stomach boil.

The mere notion of seeing his father again made his insides turn into water.

But he knew everything good went early, and a second later, he knew his father would have disappeared into a wisp of smoke.

But oh, he hated himself.

It could have been his last chance to talk to him.

He could remember billowing robes, a sheet of inky hair, and quiksilver eyes exactly like his. He could remember smiles and words of encouragement.

He was a sacrifice.

He had fought the same war.

But in the end, he thought bitterly, his father had lost. He had died believing that he was forever encased in a tiny cage with no exit. He died believing his fate was set for him. He died believing his destiny was something that he could never change.

But really, he finally thought, as he saw his usual hard faced and brittle uncle reduced to tears, that maybe, his father was a happy man after all.

And maybe, when he placed a consoling hand on his cousin's shoulder, maybe he could try to protect them for once, and protect his father for once, because unknowingly, his father had defied fate.

So his father actually _won _in a way, too.

Maybe he could fight the war for his father.

No, for the _future_. If anybody had grown up thinking that they could not change their future, he would show them that they could. And he was eventually freed from the darkness.

Four faces flashed across. A protuberant set of round eyes with and three distinct lashes (despite how comical the face was, he learned to welcome it) topped with a blinding set of teeth, sparkling brown eyes and a cheeky grin, and a shy pair of pale irises like his also. The last face drifted along aimlessly, an impish smile and huge Prussian orbs.

He finally caught up with his more _sane_ friend chatting with the Yamanaka girl. He immediately pulled her over.

_When I die, I don't want you to cry and thrash around. I want you to acknowledge that I have been one of the people who willingly gave their life up for the cause of the war. I want to be remembered as a martyr, but someone nameless that jumped from the shadows who would protect the treasure of this fight. I want to protect a friend, someone dear to me. I can't count on Lee, or ...they're too...sentimental. The best shinobi protects from the shadows. Shinobi don't shed a drop of feeling on the battlefield. _

She had shrugged and laughed a little, although her eyes were sad when she looked at him.

_Neji, I don't want you to think about these things...I don't want to think that you're going to die. If you die...I, no, we would all be broken-hearted. _

_Just promise me. _

She had sighed. _Okay. I will do it. Only for you. _

He had hugged her to him, because he knew he could count on her the most.

He didn't _hate_ Naruto. But he wasn't exactly fond of the guy either.

But he harbored a huge amount of respect for him.

The day had been embarrassing, yes, but a victory also.

The next few days came by at ease, no sudden deaths, none of his comrades wounded or hurt.

But at last, all good things must end, he told himself.

The day following was full of turmoil and commotion. Screams and cries and weeps came from every corner, and he was suddenly very confused.

They started to yell and screech and squeal, but they all said the same thing.

_Madara's back. _

He felt extremely dense and stupid.

He should have known better.

_Madara is an imposter. _

How could someone, from more than a hundred years ago, from the time of the First, from even before his village was _founded_, still be alive?

Apparently the whole entire world thought it was true.

It would make sense that he would come back as a reincarnation. They would have had his body.

Just like his father…a phantom of the past to his broken uncle.

He suddenly felt a sudden wave of anger. How could somebody take these bodies...experiment with them, and torment people with their past? People were happy to die for their loved ones….but not to be taken and be put back to where they were before.

Much less have people kill their family and friends right in front of their own eyes.

He also suddenly wished he had not thought such naive thoughts before, and shouldn't have been excited when he heard tell of his father.

People thought the name Madara was complete taboo. They would distinctly shudder and pulse and fidget once the name was uttered.

He hated this technique.

_Edo Tensei_.

The dead stayed dead. Nobody would be brave enough to take their own lives for the sake of the life of others. Except one, he knew of.

He felt another wave of sheer anger when he thought of the imposter Madara. His main objective was to go capture the remaining of the tailed beasts, yet he would go this far just to torture the minds of lowly shinobi, just to see them go mad?

He had a childish notion of taking this Madara's body and throwing it off a cliff. He would not even have to use the Gentle Fist.

Somehow he had made it through, and swallowing a lump his throat, he had approached what he thought was the climax of the war.

And he was still alive, nonetheless!

He knew he was always a selfish individual, but he couldn't help but be relieved that he had made it this far.

The imposter Madara really was an imposter (of course, he thought, they all should have known that Madara looked nothing like that), and was a childhood friend and teammate of Kakashi.

But what he did not know could have happened, was with just a little bit of each tailed beasts' chakra, the Ten-Tails could be revived.

He thought it was just a myth.

Apparently so did everybody else.

Nothing could like that in real life, but here it stood in front of the alliance, mouth open wide and roaring to the sky, and a huge glistening red eye facing them. It looked monstrous, almost like a Rinnegan and a Sharingan morphed into one, and its pulsating movements made his stomach churn and his brain whir.

Ten colossal tails swished back and forth, knocking whatever was in their ways.

He really didn't know what it was (wasn't it supposed to be a tree?). It had somewhat of a humanoid body, and huge fangs much larger than any of their swords.

The whole shinobi body gasped and writhed under its terrifying stare. On top stood the real Madara and his sidekick. Their faces were unusually smug, not a drop of regret or remorse in them.

He knew Kakashi was scarred. Ruined, he would have said, but scarred was more of the way he stared glassy-eyed into the midst.

Right when the beast came thundering down, more than a hundred people screeched and had the life squeezed from their throats.

This was what they meant by _weapon_?

And he finally understood what the little blond haired nut felt. He had called him a loser, and he had immediately ricocheted back.

Naruto was hated, yet _he_ was once loved. The people loathed him not because of _him_ but because of the beast inside him. Like, he reminisced, how they all hated him for this heritage to the branch family, and not for what he actually thought deep inside, and that he was still a boy, with feelings, and the desire of revenge for his poor, poor father.

He was overcome with an urge to finally _kill_ the thing.

_Maybe, the time has come for me to die. _

He silently prayed that she remembered every word he said to her. He stole a look, and with his all seeing stare, he spotted her, emotionless, although her eyes were full of worry. She reached a hand to him almost longingly, but he averted his eyes to the ground.

When the Yamanaka girl had captured the thing in here mind, he felt a small part of him deflate with relief. But what came next jolted him out of his reverie.

Out of spindly fingers came sharpshooters and missiles, deadly, and poison, striking each person until their soul spilled into the chilling night air. He had smirked, and he prepared to spin.

He wasn't called a genius for nothing.

He was impressed when Hinata repelled multiple tails away, and the beast retracted with a horrible screech. Maybe, he thought, with a hint of grim satisfaction, finally her father could come to know that she was capable of becoming a powerful shinobi.

Naruto grinned at her, and she blushed, and he was glad that finally her idol, and the man she loved, had finally looked her in the eye.

But when the spikes had flew his way, time stopped.

It seemed to be going in slow motion, aimed almost perfectly, something even Tenten could not complete. It went barrelling straight for his heart.

An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him.

_I am ready to die. _

His body seemed to move on his own, and he seemed to be moving through some kind

of tar of some sort. His hair went flying, and his forehead protector fell to the ground, and it also seemed to him that it was falling through water and not landing with a clang.

Gravity seemed to fail him, as he moved through time and space with no sense of tact.

Hinata had made it before him.

On her face was plastered a sheer look of undeniable determination and a roaring fire, and for the first time, he could finally describe her as _fearless_.

_Father, we don't need to protect them any longer_…

But his body moved even faster, and the tar seemed to thin into a sort of water, and he found that he could _swim_ much more quickly, and he took his final place.

He stood with confidence.

He knew where it would hit.

He wanted it to hit.

This was his last chance to prove that he could make a difference.

It pierced him almost instantly.

He seemed to fly, _really fly,_ fly at last, and felt the wind rush between his ears for the last time in his whole entire life, and for once, he felt _free_.

He felt like a bird, an eagle.

And he managed one of the only genuine smiles he had ever given.

When he hit the ground he was still smiling.

The whole world seemed to spin, and his vision dimmed and spiked, and Naruto's choked voice rang over the whole crowd.

His head was stinging, and his chest was sleek with blood.

Blood never looked so inviting. His own, brilliant red, crimson, blood.

He almost felt no pain, which was drowned by sheer joy, that he finally proved to the world that he could change his destiny.

But there was no applause. He wanted none.

Everybody's face was contorted, and he felt hot tears roll down his hair and it brushed against his neck, and his smile widened.

Everybody's words were quite muffled.

_Hinata is willing to die for you, so you hold more than one life in your hands. _

He wasn't expecting to say anything, really, but almost a lifetime of words seemed to tumble from his lips in a few seconds.

_And it seems that I may have been one of them. _

His eyes started to close, but he willed them to stay open. His breathing became ragged and shallow, but he didn't care. He was really free. Free at last, he felt light, and happy, and content...

_Why? Why are you willing to go this far for me?! _

Ah, Naruto. Of course, sentimental as usual, and he managed a weak laugh to himself.

He realized something with a jolt.

Lee and Tenten had no idea.

I hope she keeps her promise.

_Because you called me a genius,_ he answered Naruto at once. Something that had been bugging his mind for a while.

His life flashed in front of his eyes. Every moment, from Hinata's third birthday (she _was_ cute when she was little), from when he got branded with the seal. Learning who was on his team (secretly a little thrilled to have a somewhat more skilled kunoichi on his team), training for the exam, the surprise of finding a crooked-limbed shadow clone in the place of Naruto, Hiashi's dark head bowed in sincere apology. His almost-death that had shocked the living day out of his teammates, who blubbered and babbled over his recovery, getting promoted to Chuunin with his peers, getting promoted to Jounin, and still being Team Gai, although at first in denial. Chiding Lee and Gai with Tenten to be more reasonable. Their first S-Rank mission. Having lunch with his comrades (comrades!) and training with two unexpectedly powerful kunoichi and two passionate (and sometimes overwhelming) shinobi.

He liked his life.

He loved his life, every inch of it, from the good to the bad.

But death...ever since he had been freed, that was what he looked forward to the most.

And when he looked up at the sky again, he saw a lone bird, spreading its wings and trilling a haunting song into the night sky, he imagined he was that bird, finally flying free into the clouds. No worries, no destiny, no longer caged.

_Father, I finally understand your feelings, the feeling you felt when you chose to die for your friends. _

But in the very end, he thought, as death took him as his own, he had not died for a comrade, or a clansmen. His sacrifice was one out of many, but he was glad, that people could remember him, and he had saved two lives that held more value than his. Most of all, he died for a friend. And he died for a sister.

_Reviews are appreciated. I take criticism._


End file.
